


Reflections of a Golden Age

by S (Shorlinne), Shorlinne



Category: Who Censored Roger Rabbit? - Gary K. Wolf, Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988)
Genre: AU, F/M, Pre-film, Wartime and Toons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-23 14:23:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23579542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shorlinne/pseuds/S, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shorlinne/pseuds/Shorlinne
Summary: Where it all began: Summer 1942. Set as America is gearing up to enter the war, Roger and his friends (a collection of Toons both familiar and new) are called up to create some cartoons to encourage those at home. Jessica Krupnik, a production assistant, secretary and perpetually overworked young woman, is assigned to lead them around the lot... One thing leads to another, shenanigans ensue, and a rescue mission must mount. Can Roger and his ragtag team inspire the world, rescue the girl, and make a name for themselves? Time will tell..!Inspired by "Toon Platoon", the unreleased script, and WWII Toons & ephemera, I decided to take on the 'backstory' in my own way. The first few chapters were co-written with a friend, but Ch. 2 onwards is my own.
Relationships: Dolores/Eddie Valiant, Jessica Rabbit/Roger Rabbit
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. Coming in For Landing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jas/gifts).



**S** o this was it. The plane had landed quickly and under great cover and secrecy, but Jessica Krupnik was undeterred; these things had been going on for what felt like an eternity now. Wartime had not been kind to anyone– And Hollywood was no different.

It was 1942. Tensions were thick but they had become– Accustomed– to the way things were. They were not all _good_ ways, but familiar ones now. Victory gardens in the backyard, women working for the war effort, husbands and boys away on the front…

There was little she enjoyed from day to day, but she was glad she was safe on assignment; working for the United States as a secretary to _Maroon Cartoons_ , Jessica had been sent over to help survey the area for potential filming with the assistant director and crew for a series of short patriotic films to rally the troops, and hopefully, the nation.

Somehow or another, someone along the way had decided the best way to do this was to involve some up-and-coming stars, and some new fresh-from-the-cel Method Toons. The Method Toons bothered her a little, being so… Adherent to their Anti-American roles, but she was glad she didn’t have to deal with them _too_ much. They’d only met once, although one of them _had_ goose-stepped over her toes…

Jess was to keep notes, though she felt her nurse training being wasted at a career in film during _wartime_. Again, the old guilt bothered at her– She could be helping, but here she was! Chasing silly, stupid dreams that were leading to.. To nowhere, really. Just a clipboard, a pair of uncomfortable shoes, a cramped airport and an overzealous director who had _insisted_ on flying in the _stars_. They were lucky they weren’t spotted– She wasn’t sure who was flying in or starring as that portion of the project had been under _tight_ wraps, but there had been a group outside the gates without even knowing _who_ was in attendance. Anxious, she shifted her weight and glanced at the director, who squatted on his chair and stared ahead intently, filming the whole thing. “It’d be great B footage!” He’d said.

Tsking quietly, she checked the clipboard she carried nervously, looking up at the plane…

_Of all the things I could have done_ … She’d really wanted to be _in_ films, but no one was interested in hiring a stuffy looking _matronly_ young woman. Nervously, Jessica adjusted her glasses and chewed hard on her lower lip and frowned at the plane, squinting. It looked like the one they had been told to expect, but who could tell? It could be anyone coming in. 

The security unit watching their film crew raised their arms and moved out from behind the group, hustling in front all shirts and sunglasses, a buff barricade of muscle to protect the stars and the _supposed_ secrecy of the project. No one could take enough precautions, it seemed, and as the door on the plane began to open, Jess felt a thrill of excitement rush through her. _It could be anyone…_!

\-----

Fluffy white tufts of clouds quickly flew passed the window as the plane soared high through the air. They passed by in quick succession. Sometimes one after the other, sometimes two at a time. Sometimes they would get split in half by the wing of the plane, and sometimes they would get pushed to one side or the other.

All in all, it was fun to watch, but all too soon the plane would exit the larger cloud and the passengers would have to wait until they passed through the next one to see the spectacle again.

Or, one of them, anyways.

The white rabbit flopped back into his seat where he had been standing a moment before, nose practically pressed against the window and head following the passing clouds like a dog followed the dotted lines on a road. Now, he leaned back on his palms and idly swung his large feet under the seat as he waited for the next cloud.

His attention traveled from the window, now showcasing a bright blue, to the seat in front of him, to the baby beside him who looked none-too-amused. In fact, his bright blue eyes were narrowed, and his small arms were crossed.

“Are you gonna do that every time we go through a cloud?” He asked, raising a brow.

The rabbit replied with a chuckle and a sheepish grin.

“I’m not blocking the view, am I?”

The baby gave a curt laugh in reply, and smoothed down the large newspaper that rested on his small lap.

“What view? It’s just hard to read with you bouncin’ around like a hopped up jack russell, that’s all.” He said, looking back down to the paper. The headline read, in big bold black letters ‘TROOPS STILL REELING FROM PEARL HARBOR ATTACK’.

The rabbit scrunched his nose and sat back against the seat.

“Why do you read that stuff? It’s all bad!”

“Call it research.”

– – –

After a few more clouds (and a few more curses from a certain passenger) the plane had finally arrived at its destination, rolling to a stop on the runway.

Even before the propellers had stopped spinning, a visible gathering of people could be seen far off on the runway, ready to meet them.

Once the plane was safe to approach, uniformed figures could be seen from the windows, moving out in front of the group of onlookers and coming to a stop before the boarding stairs, hands crossed in front of them, and staring through their dark sunglasses straight at the crowd.

The metal door of the plane was opened up, and slowly but surely people started exiting. Mostly humans who would be involved with production. The few Toon actors exited last.

Stepping out onto the runway, a tall man surveyed the area and locked eyes with a familiar face, the man leaning over the large camera next to Jessica.

“Raoul!” He waved, stepping forward with a large smile. “Nice to see you again!” He spoke loudly over the sound of the growing commotion. Behind him, two Toon turtles were in a very slow tug-of-war over their luggage. The man whistled and gestured over his shoulder for them and the rest of the actors to follow. 

“Meet your actors. Terry Turtle, Shelly Tortoise, Billy Bulldog, Roger Rabbit, and Baby Herman.” He gestured to them all. “We ready to see some locations?”

\----

The plane landed and Raoul stepped out, casting Jessica into shadow behind the rest of the crew immediately. She made no noise moving back, clutching her clipboard for a moment before checking off several boxes, and taking a headcount with her pencil. The security around them parted slightly to allow Raoul to step forward, along with his litany of actors and artists.

For a moment, fleeting as it was, Jessica felt proud to be among them. Her eyes widened slightly behind her hair and she felt a flush rise to her cheeks– She’d been working with stars for a little while but she always felt just slightly-so-dizzy when they actually.. _Came out_ , as it were. Shelly Tortoise, Billy Bulldog, Terry Turtle, Roger Rabbit and– _Baby Herman?!_ She flipped through her documents, agape. No one had said he was coming! She expected the bit players, sure, and Billy Bulldog was dizzying enough, but _Herman_ , star of all sorts of shorts and extras in nearly half the films around. When you needed a cute baby, you got _Herman_. He was plastered on half the milk bottles and diaper boxes in Los Angeles by now…

Inhaling carefully she kept her expression placid– Even as Raoul rushed by her, stepping on her _other_ foot, calling,

“ERIC! Eric, oh! It’s so good to see you, old sport!”

Raoul took the man’s hand and shook, grinning all the while, “Of course, of course! Come now, we’ve got a whole day in front of us–”

“Are we all needed?” Shelly Tortoise yawned. Heads turned, and the tortoise shrugged, “It’s been a long day. I just wanna relax in my shell ‘fer a bit. I’ll be in the trailer.” The tortoise started to lumber off– Painfully slowly– and was escorted by his own security team. Raoul gaped, but then shook his head, smiling,

“Of course! We only need the _Principals_ -” Jessica could hear the word drop like lead. Shelly paused, and Jessica cringed. She knew enough to step back; A turtle may steam slow, but when they do, they _boil_ …

“I thought I _was_ a Principal, chief.” The cold beady eyes locked with Raoul’s. Raoul didn’t so much as flinch.

“Principals. Are seeing. The sets.”

The air was tense and Jessica turned her pencil in her hand, looking between the actors and the directors, the camera man and the gaffer, the busboy and the riggers, the security and herself. Finally, Shelly sighed and grumbled,

“Fine. I’ll hitch a ride.”

“Good!” The group looked ready to move on, so Jessica moved to the alert, standing beside Raoul. She ducked her head politely as he turned to her,

“Jessica, my dear, my darling, my pet-” She looked up but didn’t flush, and kept her face rigid. _He’s been getting at you like that since you started, and make no mistake, he oughtn’t too. You’re learned better_. 

The Girl’s school had taught her as much. No advances, no leads. Keep everything hidden, and keep it close. Keep your mouth shut, your pencil sharp; no one wants a snippy or smitten secretary, nor a nurse of overt niceties. And yet–

She’d been with Raoul and his company for a month now. He’d grown increasingly kinder to her, and had hinted she’d help play a _very_ important part of the crew on the next feature. Sure, she’d started with phone calls and files, but she’d been asked to look at some cells and model sheets with him– She’d been particularly embarrassed about this last part, of course, as they were all of _him_ , but.. It wasn’t anything you didn’t see in nursing school, she’d told herself. She _could_ help the effort! She _could_ make a difference, she _could–_

“Could you get the bags?”

His smile was a thousand watt bulb, but he was left unscrewed, she thought. Maintaining her rigid face she stiffened and nodded, turning sharply so he wouldn’t see the disappointment on her features. She let her hair fall over her eyes, and said simply,

“Of course.”

The security moved back around the group, but this time she was left standing with the luggage cart and her clipboard on the outside…


	2. Off the Lot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We establish some relationships, some guidelines, and some ego problems.

If there was one thing you didn’t want to stand in front of, it was an actor with an ego.

The tension that hung in the air was so thick that the rest of the crew could have jumped up on it to get away. But the one person that could put a stop (albeit, a begrudging one) to a prideful actor, was a stubborn director. Thank goodness… And when he did, the crew let out a collective sigh of relief. All except Herman, who smirked knowingly and shook his head.

Without any more interruptions, things were finally getting back underway. Eric gave Raoul a friendly pat on the shoulder, and once his camera was carefully and securely packed away, he gestured over his other shoulder for everyone else to follow after them.

“Woohoo!” Roger cheered, leaping up into the air as they started. 

“Boy, I wonder where we’re gonna be filming! Maybe at a factory, or an army base, or a spy camp!”

The excited rabbit bounced on his heels as they walked, while his baby companion pulled a cigar out from behind his back and struck it across the ground to light it.

Bringing it to his lips, he puffed on it a couple times, then blew a stream of smoke out the side of his mouth.

“That’s probably the last place they’d let us film.”

A quick moment of reflection made Roger realize that was probably true. But another quick moment of reflection made him realize that a spy camp being the ‘last’ place they’d be able to film, still left them with a chance. So he just nodded happily as they continued along.

“Well, wherever we’re going, I’ll bet it’ll be great! And the sooner we get there, the better!” Roger paused for a moment to look around. 

“What’s taking so long, anyways?” He asked, turning to see Billy, who was currently pushing both Shelly and Terry along, so they would keep up with the group.

Herman took another few puffs on his cigar, and gestured behind them as he blew out another stream of smoke.

“We’re waitin’ for our luggage.” He said simply, tapping the end of the cigar with a stubby pinky to get the excess ash to fall from it.

“Ohh.” Roger nodded, his head turning to look over his shoulder. He couldn’t really make out much beyond the tall legs of the circle of security and crew surrounding them, but he could make out a person struggling with their luggage cart. A single person. 

“Jeepers. You’d think this’d go a lot quicker if we all carried our own stuff, wouldn’t ya?” 

He noted, still looking back. Herman just shrugged and continued on until they stopped in front of an area where a few cars were parked, presumably awaiting their arrival. Still no luggage though. And eventually, everyone was escorted to different vehicles by the security guards, and they were made to wait again.

In one car, the actors were sardined into the back seat, shoulder to shoulder to car seat (much to Herman’s annoyance), while Raoul and Eric took the front seats. But some Toons could only take so much sitting still, and now that the tightly-packed security team was more dispersed, it was easy to see the red-headed woman gradually getting closer with their large cart of luggage.

“Uh, shouldn’t someone help her?” 

The rabbit piped up from his window seat, pointing out the window towards the woman. Raoul and Eric were in the middle of a conversation – one that they didn’t appear to want to stop, for they said nothing on the matter.

Shelly –who was crammed in-between Herman’s carseat and Terry – looked over lethargically and blinked. “It’d take more work crawling out of the car than it would getting all that stuff into it.”

“I’m all buckled in.” Herman said with a satisfied smirk. At least the seat was good for excuses.

Meanwhile, snoring just echoed from inside Terry’s shell.

Roger turned back to look out the window, and with a momentary pause, he shrugged and pulled the latch to unlock the car door, then hopped out onto the pavement.

“Heeey!”

He called, waving an arm and running clumsily towards the woman. He skidded to a halt just in time to crash into the side of it, reverberating away from it like a smacked cymbal. He grabbed the sides of his head to stop himself and shook it off, before looking up to the tall woman with a grin. “Need some help?”

\----

Raoul sighed and wrinkled his nose, murmuring to himself,

“A spy camp? No- No, not quite, Roger.” 

He rubbed his temples and his assistants cast worried looks as Jessica was dragging the cart across the lot.

“No, something more..Subtle. Refined…Mm-”

He was muttering to himself by the time Jessica had made it even a good three feet. _Shouldn’t have worn these shoes._ He slipped into the car, before turning to talk to Eric-- And he was no longer her concern at all.

A bright voice startled her and she looked up to see Roger Rabbit, of all toons, hopping her way. Ducking her head she stood quickly and smoothed her skirt, starting to reassure him,

“No- Really, it’s fine, I just–” When he ran into the cart. She yelped and trotted over quickly, abandoning the pains in her feet, kneeling slightly,

“Oh! Oh dear- Are you alright? I can handle it, really, there’s no need to bother yourself, Sir– This is… what I do.”

“And we're waiting, Jessica!” 

Raoul had rolled down the window and tapped his cigar off onto the pavement, scowling behind large sunglasses. Flustered, she curtsied and called,

“Sorry, Raoul! I’ll be right on it-”

Raoul didn’t seem to hear, and called,

“Rabbit! Get back in the car! Principals are going to the set, not fraternizing with trivial tasks and…Her.”

Jessica froze and flushed, her fists curling. She swallowed hard and turned sharply, back to the overstuffed cart, and began pushing it with a renewed strength– It moved much faster as her hair fell into her face and she grit her teeth. She wasn’t going to say a word. She wasn’t going allow the Rabbit to help her- He was a star and she was holding up everything, but oh! She’d make sure Raoul saw she wasn’t useless! He'd see!

She threw the trunk open and moved to haul a case off the cart– It weighed her down with a thud, but she reared back and threw it in like a baseball player pitching a game. The car bounced with the effort, and Raoul yelped, gripping the window and laughing nervously,

“Oh! Oh- Er- Very good! T-thank you!”

“You're VERY WELCOME!” Jessica hadn’t meant to snap, but there it was. The words faded and she stood, smoothed her skirt, tucked back her hair, and forced a polite smile,

“Er. Yes, very welcome, Sir.” She turned on Roger quickly, and tried her best to make herself seem less.. Alarming. She cleared her throat and offered weakly,

“May I get the door for you..?”

Roger turned to look at Raoul as he called. He was just about to answer too, when the director’s tone took a dangerous turn – one that even he was fully aware of. Shifting his gaze up to the woman beside him, he gulped as the look of anger flashed across her face, and he had to pick up his pace as she started forward with a renewed vigour.

Before he knew it, they had crossed the distance to the car, and the heavy case was landing in the trunk with a thud! The impact actually made the car bounce.

“Yeesh, you don’t want to get on her bad side!” 

Herman piped up, chuckling dryly at Raoul’s reaction as he tapped the stray ashes from his cigar out the window.

At this point Roger was just catching up to her, and he skidded to a halt in front of the car door.

“Jeepers! You didn’t need my help after all!” He laughed, moving to pull open the door. With a shake of his head, he said, “

That’s okay! I can get it!” and used both hands to pull the door open and clamber inside.

Once in his seat, he noticed a very definite problem. There wasn’t enough space. Even if he squeezed over, he’d be shoulder-to-shoulder with Baby Herman and the door.

“Uhh…” He began, raising a tentative finger and looking from Jessica to the front seat where Raoul was currently straightening his collar. “Where is she gonna sit?” He asked, gesturing to Jessica with a thumb.

Eric turned in his seat and gave a curt laugh.

“She’s going to have to catch the next one. We’re not going to need too many papers filled out where we’re going. We might need some things carried though, so– Jessica, when you find out where the filming is taking place, make your way there, would you?”

The man said with a wave of his hand and turned back around. 

“Get the door too, if you don’t mind. We’ve got a film to make!”


	3. Set Tours / Detours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica leads the boys on a bungled series of tours through various set pieces-- A flood, a homestead, a bit of reminiscing! And all before lunch, too!  
> Some rumination on purpose and place from Herman, some on-the-job nerves and a glimpse at who Jessica could have been before all... This.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, no. It's been longer than I meant to update!  
> So, that said, please enjoy chapter 3! I've got the rest plotted out and will be trying to add more a little more frequently.

Jessica shut the trunk with the tips of her fingers pushing her hair back into place as she heard the conversation muse from within, Raoul chuckling slightly as he turned forward,

“She’ll be fine, Roger! Eric! Be a dear and pass me that suitcase, will you?”

He turned and leaned back, calling over his shoulder out the window,

“Lot seventeen, Jessie, dearest! And- Oh? The door? Would you be so kind?”

Jessica stood, briefly dumbfounded but forced a tight smile as she nodded, “Right away, sir-” And the door snapped shut with a swish of her hips as she took her clipboard and bag of materials, stepping back. Before she could look up to confirm or ask if they had a spare ride, the limo was squealing out of the airport lot with a rush of air and the sound of tires tearing across cement. She had to hold on to her cap, fist balled.

She tried not to actively storm back to her bike, but the effort was barely contained. Throwing her bag over her shoulder, she muttered furiously,

“Be a help! Work for the effort! Sure, I’ll take a position in California, sounds nice! I can help at the base-- Hell, maybe Birmingham--”

She gave a curt laugh and straddled the rusty two-wheeled venture with a frown, tossing her things into the small trunk tied on with old belts. Adjusting her hat she pursed her lips and sighed, shutting her eyes, reaffirming to herself as she found she’d been doing far more often lately:

“We can do this. This isn’t for us. This is for the boys. This is for our country.”

Brightening slightly, she relaxed and pocketed her glasses. She wasn’t reading off her clipboard now, and there was all the chance they could get knocked away or broken as she biked to Lot Seventeen.

Now. Just where..Was lot seventeen, anyway?

_—– Somewhere on Maroon Toon’s lot..._

“Isn’t it WONDERFUL?”

Raoul stepped out and spread his arms wide. The building was a domed powerhouse of activity- Actors and actresses, extras largely, hurrying in and out with scripts and set pieces and coffee and costumes. A stern looking military captain hurried past, followed by a worried costumer trying to adjust the back of his jacket, just as from the other direction a Toon duck dressed as Betsy Ross hurried by, quacking angrily to a Toon cow assistant who was juggling several other dresses and mirrors as they went;

“Tell Donald that I won’t put up with it!”

“Daisy, darling, please!”

“Absolutely not! That fowl-mouthed fella’ has another think coming, Clara, if HE thinks–-” The duo hurried off the set through a bush-shaped door in the scenery, and only angry quacking could be heard as they faded away. Billy and Terry exchanged set of raised brows, and Shelly chuckled slowly, remarking dully in his low monotone, “Divas.”

Raoul sighed, relaxing. He glanced back and smiled amicably, trying to speak over the muttering and noise, “Of course, this is just set one. We’re sharing a space with the Disney lads today, you know— Everyone must conserve! Now, the home front! Behold!”

He hurried forward, and not too far off a large sunset sepia backdrop full of fields and a small river coursing through was suspended from the ceiling in front of a 3/4th view of a farmhouse. A plow and a picket fence were off to the right, with a mailbox leaning slightly, the flap open and set with two delicate looking letters ready for post. A windmill, reaching above the clouds, was just behind the house itself. The house was a mustard yellow, and great letters hovered over, painted in TOON TITLE font:

**“THE HOMEFRONT!: THE WAR DOESN’T END IN EUROPE, FRIENDS!”**

“(How To Grow a Victory Garden with Goofy!)”

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, the titular toon wasn’t at the set presently. A vacant chair emblazoned with his name had a cup of coffee still steaming beside it, however, which did not fail to catch Roger’s attention. He nudged Billy in excitement as he bounced on his heels, and ignored that the bulldog nearly bit the elbow off in retaliation. Raoul, however, did _not_ fail to notice, and flashed Eric a concerned look as the man shrugged, gestured to Goofy’s empty seat, and went to fetch the star. Now, alone with the Toons he was set to film, and feeling unfamiliar, Raoul shifted nervously. All eyes trailed towards him-- Quite a feat, since they swivelled and rolled as cartoonishly as possible.

Raoul cleared his throat, embarrassed and managed, “It’s- It's multi-use, you understand. Have to conserve for the lads! In a few days and some coats of paint, this’ll be a German infantry base! Count on it, haha!”

He pulled at his collar, nervously, and glanced to the toons for approval, just as the G in Goofy began precariously leaning off the title, and slowly tumbled towards the roof of the farmhouse…

—-

Jessica arrived thirty minutes after the limo to find the set in a state of intense disarray. The title letters hadn’t been secured and the farmhouse had been flattened, Goofy was missing (though there was a suspiciously Goofy-shaped silhouette cut from the distant sunset, and a bull chewing on the painted grass..), the farmhouse was in shambles (who had decided to put a full bath in the place!?) and the set itself was partially flooded.

Side-stepping puddles and a small mouse steering a leaf downstream while singing ‘O, Fortuna’, Jessica clutched the clipboard tight, and put her glasses back on. She glanced around– The doors to the limo were all ajar. Where was everyone?

Slowly, her eyes wandered up the windmill, and her mouth formed a small 'o.’ Stepping forward, she called carefully,

“Raoul, should I cross lot seventeen of the list?”

“FOR GOD’S SAKE, JESSIE! YES– AND HELP ME DOWN!”

There was a suspicious missing patch in his pants. She glanced to the bull, whose horns were adorned with a familiar square of similarly shaped fabric. Clearing her throat, she announced,

“Right! Well.” She cleared her throat, rocking back on her heels and smiled brightly,

“Looks like we won’t be in Kansas anymore, sir!”

“HELP ME DOWN!”

Jessica saluted, perhaps a little sardonically, and went to find a ladder.

Roger dangled from the windmill, circling slowly as he, Herman, and Billy each clutched one of the large blades.

Roger whistled lowly, and remarked, “Wow! Can you believe this is how they’re making Cartoons now?”

He hooted with laughter, and was promptly rewarded with the end of a soggy, rolled up newspaper as Herman growled, “Shut it!” And Billy bemoaned, “I want my trailer!”

Herman’s eyes shut and he exhaled heavily. Things had gone pretty well when they’d arrived-- All things considered. He didn’t have much of a high opinion of Goofy to begin with, frankly, and thought the set had been a little ramshackle in constructions, but this-- This _cinched_ it. He’d eat his stogie if this managed to get any worse.

There was a metallic _thunk_ as a ladder appeared beneath them, leaning precariously against the windmill. The dame below, practically sewn into her damn sweater, glanced up beneath her chignon, peeking one violet eye from beneath the sweep of her bangs. Herman whistled to himself and grinned slowly, unable to help himself: “Comin’ up, toots?” “No. Thank you,” The woman cleared her throat and he caught the tinge of scarlet along her cheeks, and a bright smile-- Forced as any he could read -- as she glanced side-long to a lumbering, large gorilla with a cap reading “CREW” in bright, bold yellow,

“But Bongo will be assisting us this afternoon!”

\---

After everyone had been successfully rescued and returned to solid ground, the bull given his union-mandated break, and Eric located (he had been flung off-set into a production about scrap metal and returned, dutifully by Daffy Duck, in a large over-sized sardine can), Jessica was juggling the potential of paperwork to account for the set distressing and replacements. Her glasses balanced on her nose as Eric and Raoul went back and forth; “-- Absolutely destroyed! We can’t rebuild this in a day--” “Well, we have the stars for the afternoon!” Hissed Raoul, dropping his voice as their titular toons were not far behind them, lounging in directors chairs and chatting with crew members. Roger had out an autograph book and was pestering for as many signatures as he could from a flustered gaffer, having already followed Daffy to no avail, while Shelly and Herman watched extras pass, exchanging their own set of horror stories, and Terry and Billy played a slow game of cards. Jessica had stopped listening to the pair when she’d heard _several_ double-entendres that would have turned her scarlett had she not been acting in such a professional conduct.

Her eyes flickered back to Raoul and Eric, as she cleared her throat, “Our schedule has them until four, sir.” “And it’s barely noon,” Raoul grit his teeth and Eric exhaled heavily. The man brought his hand to his face and rubbed his temples as he surveyed the destroyed set; Even Goofy wouldn’t be back for _this_ , but the old dog was busy photographing for a series of adverts for bonds or some such-- The Disney boys were certainly busy bees, and rumors had it even the Department of Defence had them on their side with all sorts of secret reels and storyboards scooting in and out of the Pentagon itself. Of course, rumors are rumors, and they’re like to run rampant, especially in Hollywood…

Still, the problem of what to do with their assets had left them flummoxed. They were supposed to get some preliminary shots and establishing work done, but between the late flight and the chaos, they were left stranded.

“They need a distraction-”

“A delay-”

“A development-”

“A detour--”

Raoul snapped his fingers and pointed at Eric, a grin spreading across his features. Eric blinked back at him vacantly, as Raoul hooted,

“Of course! How about instead of a _detour_ we just set them up with a regular old tour! These fellows have seen sketch sets, storyboards and _our_ studio of course, but we could show them all sorts of things! The Warner’s lot, MGM, Paramount—”

He rattled off a couple of names as Eric leapt in, grinning in tandem,

“They can see the sound stages!”

“Production booths!”

“Trailers!”

“Hell, even Acme’s!”

Eric held up a hand and Raoul stepped back, blinking, as Eric shook his head and lowered his voice,

“Maybe _not_ Acme’s. Look-- The fella’s are professionals, but uh, as far as…”

He lowered his voice and gestured with his off hand, “The Rabbit goes, he’s a little goofy. I mean, they all are, but him more’n most. You ever hear of a lucky Rabbit’s foot? This guy’s got the opposite. I think it’s his lack of it that makes the rest lucky.”

Raoul’s brows rose conspiratorially, but he nodded once, and muttered, “Alright, _not_ Acme’s.”

“As a last resort,” Eric reassured, and Raoul nodded vaguely, scratching his chin.

“Maybe we can show ‘em the rest of the sets on loan from Disney?” Eric suggested, and Raoul brightened. He nodded, humming to himself, then glanced around; Of the group, Herman and Shelly were talking lowly together, interspaced with dull laughter and knowing nods.

Terry and Billy had given up the card game, creating a card tower, and Roger-- Well, he was watching the two with rapt attention, eyes wide as saucers as he whispered, “Jeepers! What if I just-”

“Roger, no!” Billy barked, and as the Rabbit put a paw forward the tower slowly folded in on itself and fanned outward--

Each successfully flying full out enough to scatter against the directors. They exchanged dull looks, and glanced side-long to their secretary-- Now covered in a spray of cards.

Jessica lowered her clipboard and stared slowly over her glasses, not letting her expression change a jot as cards fell off the board in a quick downward fan. The directors exchanged a quick look, biting back twin smirks of amusement, as Raoul stepped forward,

“Oh-- Jessica, dear-”

He was cut off by Roger, who leapt up in delight, gathering the scattered cards with a whoop.

“Oh boy! A royal flush! What’re the odds, huh?!”

She could have frozen a dune in the desert with her stare, and Roger stopped, wide-eyed, and stepped back. He cast a shaky grin and shuffled the cards nervously in his paws, as Raoul stepped further forward to save the poor actor while Billy and Terry shot one another conspiratorial glances.

“ _Jessie, dear, darling--_ ”

“ _Yes_ , sir?” Jessica clipped, and the words themselves sounded carved from the arctic. Raoul’s grin was plastered on as he continued,

“Why don’t you give the boys a tour, hmm? Eric and I need to sort out the.. Details of the shoot, you understand! And you know the lot inside out by now, don’t you?”

Jessica’s shoulders almost drooped, but she caught herself just in time, and found herself lowering her lashes and cursing her luck. Her smile warmed as she lifted her lids, catching Raoul off guard as she murmured,

“Of course, sir.”

Eric beamed in the background and gave Raoul a thumbs up and a conspiratorial wink, as Raoul gave a quick cough, disguisng barely the flush on his face as he fumbled with his hands,

“Ah! Well, yes, er- Lads! Why don’t you go with Misses Krupnik, here, and she’ll get you all sorted, hmm?”

Jessica cleared her throat, and lifted the clipboard. There were the days notes, plain in ink and half crossed out now after the chaos. What was supposed to have been a day of filming and photographs and signings had turned-- Well, into a disaster. And now it was a disaster she’d have to parade around.

_Wonderful. Couldn’t get luckier if I tried._

——

_Of all the luck and all the lots._

Herman took a deep drag of his cigar as he readjusted the elastic band of his diaper, his scowl pouting out in a manner less adorable and more bullish, mirroring the default face of his costar Billy while _Miss Krupnik_ held open a door leading off another Toon staging lot. The studios were winding down for lunch, and while Roger may have been thrilled to visit every single inch of each set, all replicas of the perfect, sparkling American home, the familiarity of the mundane was wearing on Herman.

Large, fake, two-to-one dimensional homes of various sizes and strengths, each representing a modernized, clean, tip-top-shape All-American-Homestead. There’d been a cozy, well-rationed and maintained kitchen, full of little nooks and crannies that they’d been urged to avoid touching. It had led them to another outdoor set, this time a community lot, where no garden nor Goofy had been seen, then finally a six-feet-apart-minimum pair of well-laced-and-tucked twin beds in a master bedroom, which had nearly made Herman hoarse with laughter at the thought that _this_ was how America expected its hometown heroes to stay together: Wide, wide apart. No new little recruits under those roofs, that was certain.

As if to spite him, however, the last set behind them was a plasticine pastel living room made up of particleboard and casters, the sight only a precocious baby jumper and a humming housewife short of perfection, and it made his skin crawl. He’d stood there only a minute with the others as Jessica explained the storyboard of the expected short, before turning on his chubby heel and ducking away. It’d be his set, sure, but he knew well enough what they wanted of him by now.

_Show up, smile, giggle a little, gurgle a lot, and we’re all just happy families._

Tucking his head and shaking his singular curl, he exhaled a plume of smoke from the cigar clutched in his fist, and ducked off the floor of the final set with a snort and a scowl as Jessica glanced after his exit with a knit brow, her confusion evident. _Let her wonder_ , he thought.

Herman was what the others would refer to as the ‘new old-school’. They’d do so privately, but he knew better: you hear a lot more at shin height than most people assume. Hell, you see a lot more too.

The thought passed with a grin as he glanced back up at the secretary, but her stance was of steel and there wasn’t a second to steal of a glance as her look of concern faded quickly, bending to her clipboard in an instant. Figures. She wasn’t his type anyway— God, not that women would respect an actor like him or his _type_. Not at this point in his career. Not after the bibs he’d worn, the babble he’d wagged or the mush he’d mulled over.

Herman cast a long glance at the actors around him, and not for the first time that day, nor the week, did he feel somewhat outsidered. He was experienced, even if he didn’t look it, and while Shelly and Billy got it to an extent they just— They didn’t _know._

The smell of baby powder wafted past as a jarring reminder of his limits being tested as the metal door swung shut behind them with a quick slam, and Jessica re-checked her clipboard. Her voice rose,

“We should have time to step out and eat, if you’d all like. The canteen is around the corner, and there’s a smoking space by-“

“Thank _God,”_ Herman groused aloud as he stretched and chewed on the damp end of his cigar. He grinned and rolled his eyes to Shelly, eyebrows waggling,

“Let’s say you and I go get a gander at some dames, huh?”

Shelly let out a muffled snort and Herman chuckled. The look of disgust on their minders face was worth shooing her for a good hour or so. She’d find them, he figured with a sour grunt, so long as she followed the stench of burning Cubans and the incessant, grating noise of people cooing at him before they caught the iron in his eyes.

His pudgy fists clenched and he felt his shoulders tighten. Seeing the set behind them had pushed more buttons than he’d thought, and he really just needed a load off.

“I think Billy and I will grab lunch,” Volunteered Terry, shifting slightly. The turtles Adam’s apple bobbed nervously in his throat, but hardly matched the wide swivel of Billy’s eyes. There was an unspoken agreement there that Herman couldn’t place, and Jessica hadn’t seemed to have noticed. She was flipping a paper now and chewing on the end of her pen slightly.

_She’s awfully stuck to her clipboard,_ mused Herman, but let the thought pass. The itch at the back of his neck and the reminder of his height was driving him mad, and he was ready to head off and escape her clipped notes and stick-to-the-facts manner of touring. As they’d seen the four other sets together, each more cloying than the last, she’d gone over each with a staged distance and demeanor that reminded him of someone trying to be as far away as they could, while still having to stand close to something they couldn’t avoid.

The scent of baby powder nagged at him yet, and though he’d never say it, he could understand. Hefting himself down the singular step from the doorframe and snagging a pair of aviators from his own personal waist pack, he grinned away the thought and called to Shelly:

“Shake a leg, Torts!”

“Real funny, kid.” Grunted the tortoise, but grinned slowly as they ambled off.

“So,” a final voice lifted from the ground as Jessica jumped slightly. She set down the board quickly as Roger turned to look at her with a shy smile— His autograph book was still in hand. Any hopes she’d had of him running off to court the stars were whisked away as he replaced it to his pocket and rocked on his heels. There was a long pause before he managed,

“Are uh— You going to get lunch?”

Jessica grimaced internally. The reminder of the canteen and the wolf whistles that accompanied it, or worse yet, the lone table and stale sandwiches as actresses passed her in steely silence made her shake her head. She murmured, trying to deflect,

“No— I ah. Brought my lunch.”

Rogers smile opened and he stood a little taller, causing her to shrink back as he pulled a battered paper bag from his other pocket and announced,

“Oh gee! Me too! What’re the odds, huh?”

On the bag in precise pen was a message smudged by wear and water, it looked, signed with a loopy LOVE MOM. Jessica wasn’t sure whether she ought to laugh or cry, and blinked hard at him.

“Do you know any good spots? Gosh, I wonder where the stars eat? D’you think we’ll see anyone, Miss?”

Roger turned around, bright and oblivious as Jessica shrank back slightly, hands wrapped tight around the pressed wood of her clipboard. Her teeth worried at her lower lip.

_Gee, Lena, do you think we’ll see anyone?_

_Jessica, we’re on a tour bus— And the suns so bright here we’ll be lucky to see the lot at our feet._

_Oh, I know-- But just imagine, Lena..._

Jessica frowned and shook away the memory uncomfortably. She and Lena had come in with the rest of the nurses at the start, and before they were due to check in and get assignments, of course, of _course_ they’d see the sights. Leena had never been to this part of Town before-- She hadn’t elaborated on where she was from originally, but from what Jessica could gather it hadn’t been a good place. Her excitement at seeing _THE Tinseltown_ , as she’d called it, had been infectious-- Even for someone who’d come from just a few blocks away ‘cross the wrong side of the tracks, and was already tired of the whole scene…

Back in the present, Jessica caught herself hesitating to answer.

“I’m not sure,” she demurred, flipping through the papers warily. The Maroon lot wasn’t too active this afternoon, and they’d seen most of the work being done at lot seventeen before it had flooded. They hadn’t visited Warner’s yet, or Disney’s if they could get in, but they had seen several sets and still… It felt like no _Stars_. Maybe they were on the bigger sets, or the more important bits of film and offices, but she wouldn’t know; She was just here to shuffle these fellas from one lot to another, to organize, to delegate, to say “Yes Sir, Mr. Raoul, Sir,” and “Certainly, Mr. Eric, Sir, would that be all?” as brightly as she could.

Which, she had to admit, wasn’t too brightly. Did they know what they’d taken her from, the work she could be doing?

Plucked up to be a pretty little picture for them, skirting along in heels and bright smiles. She tsk’d to herself, but Roger’s curious gaze caught her eye.

He was on tiptoes now, his ears folded over his brow like a hand scanning the horizon, his whiskers quivering alongside his nose as he tried to see over ply board set pieces and hurriedly walking assistants moving past. Jessica felt a pang for him, albeit briefly-- He was just as starry-eyed as Leena had been. As she had been. _Once_.

Something stirred in her chest, and she felt a pang of pity for the fellow. Here he was, bright-eyed, eager, and thrown in with the lot he had. He held his bag up to his chest, his nose twitching, and Jessica let out a breath. Just once wouldn’t be too harmful, would it?

“Er-- I do, you know, know a place. Might be a little quiet, where we can sit and eat. Maybe you’ll get lucky and see someone.” She shrugged softly, and Roger seemed to brighten immediately, and she felt it: Ah, regret. Now he’d be bouncing all over, and what if he took it as too much an invitation, or he asked too many questions, or sat too close or-- “Gee! Thank you, Miss Krupnick. I promise, I won’t be too bothersome!”

Roger keened at her and she let out a soft huff, shaking her head. Her mind was getting too carried away with her now, and it was just a lunch.

“Alright, alright-- Look, it’s just down here and to the left, huh?”

“Oh, boy!” Roger bounded ahead before she could react, and Jessica was left there for a moment, mouth open as she called out, catching sight of someone rounding the corner as Roger barreled forth.

“Wait, watch out for--!”

There was a crash, and she groaned, hurrying forward on her heels. It was just lunch: She could get through one lunch without anything _else_ catastrophic happening, surely!


End file.
